From the Archives…Bedroom Stories: Battling the Sext Addicts

I’m not sure what it is about me that compels young men to send me pictures of their anatomy. I’m not talking abs and face; I’m talking twig and berries. I’ve had my fair share of weird shit happen in the bedroom and always wondered: is it me or them? Do I give off a vibe that I’m into that kind of thing? Or do I subconsciously seek out guys who look like they’re into that kind of thing?

I’m a Scorpio. If you know anything about astrology, you know that Scorpios are the most sexual sign and are the most attracted to other Scorpios. So maybe it was written in the stars that this is just what my sex life was meant to be…

By no means am I intending to allude to the fact that I’m into whips and chains. Sure, every girl likes to be thrown up against a wall once and a while in a purely animalistic fuckfest, but it doesn’t need to be every time and it doesn’t always, or ever, need to be escalated to choking or getting punched in the face. You know, serious stuff.

After an interesting all-night event with a very reliable and talented fuck buddy that included me being knocked upside the head a few times; even after I was like ‘Yo bro, I don’t believe in violence,’ I really started to think about this ‘is it me or them’ argument.

First lets start with my appearance: tall, curvy, killer rack, big blue eyes, nose ring, and visible tattoos. I normally like to wear a lot of black, including a leather jacket and when I go out there is usually no shortage of eyeliner. Once I started to break it down I started to think, ‘Maybe it is me! Maybe I look like a chick who wants to get roughed up without even realizing that’s the message I was putting out into the universe.’

So I started to try and tone the tough look down, wearing more colors, not wearing my leather jacket and motorcycle boots everywhere, toning the makeup down etc. My experiement seemed to be going well; more guys seemed were interested in getting my phone number than in getting me home for a one-nighter!

Wrong. I was so so wrong.

Instead of getting dates, I was getting sexts. Not just from one guy, but from many.

Here I am, thinking this guy is texting me any second, now he’s going to ask me to take me to dinner and then we’ll fall in love, get married, and I’ll be able to stop shaving my legs. Nope. I’m not saying I hate dirty texts, but they have more of an effect when unsolicited dicks are not inundating me.

I’m obviously no angel but I was not asking for these dick pics. I never asked for them, or led the conversation in a direction where it would be appropriate. Granted they have made amazing bar stories, and sorry boys: if you didn’t use Snapchat, guaranteed 90% of my girlfriends have seen your dick.

I’m no dummy. If a guy sends you a dick pic out of the blue at 10pm on Thursday, that means he is fishing for pics. He’s doing the “I showed you mine now show me yours” bit. Well listen up, Sir Dicks-A-Lot, its not going to happen. I like a dirty text just as much as the next person but I don’t owe you a picture just because you offered to send me one.

That’s not really even the worst part! What do these guys think that’s going to do for me? A picture of your dick in your hand is not going to get me all hot and bothered. I’m sorry its not. Are you bragging? Like, here’s photographic evidence that I don’t have a micro-dick. Congrats? It probably would have been more fun for both of us if you had just let me figure that out on my own.